


Motherhood

by solitariusvirtus



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AUs, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Infanticide, Motherhood, Parent-Child Relationship, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-19 00:27:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14863166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solitariusvirtus/pseuds/solitariusvirtus
Summary: Drabbles about the unsung heroes of less grand but no less important tales; mothers. And their children.AUs galore.





	1. “A mother’s heart is a patchwork of love.” – Unknown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING! Infanticide.

There is no aid for them. Elia holds her daughter tight, a whispered prayer upon her lips as Rhaenys plays with one of her many dolls. “Can I have a lemon cake now, lady mother?” The tray has been sitting there, mocking her for the past few hours. She has yet to gather her courage. But she will have to. For her son and daughter, the sun and stars shining the last fading light before the creeping dusk. The longer she waits the more her chance wanes.

“In a moment, my sweet.” She breathes in and out. “Why don’t you let mother select the best lemon cake for you?” Her daughter looks up with dark eyes, lover overflowing. Pain stabs with knife-like precision as it burrows its way beneath her breast.

“And one for Daenys as well,” she says, nodding to her doll. That name. Elia barely keeps her lips from twisting in disgust. Even in death, her feckless, inconsiderate husband remains a stubborn fixture upon her poor innocent daughter’s life. “Can we save some for father, as well?”

She'd cram him full of lemon cakes until he choked. Elia forces a smile upon her lips and lifts Rhaenys off her lap. “So we shall.” She walks to the table, making certain her hands are hidden throughout. Gently, she slips off the ring upon her middle finger, and allows the fine white dusting within it to fall upon the sweetest-looking piece in the selection. She picks out a second lemon cake, leaving the ring near the tray.

Rhaenys munches happily on her lemon cake when her brother is brought in. Elia takes Aegon in her arms. “Go now,” she tells the servant. The woman bows her way out and Elia unlaces the front of her kyrtle. Instinctively Aegon latches onto what he knows to be a source of nourishment. If only he knew.

Rhaenys complains after a time. It’s easier with Aegon, as no words leave his mouth. But she manages to calm the girl down by inviting her to sleep off whatever is bothering her. “Some rest and you’ll be right as rain.”

She’ll teach them all. They cannot use her children like this. They cannot use her.

(Later, when the heavy fall of boots fills the hall, she allows herself an escape as well. It’s nowhere near as elegant.)


	2. The loveliest masterpiece of the heart of God is the heart of a mother.” - St. Therese of Lisieux

Arya sat under the shade of the great sentinel tree, embroidery resting in her lap. She eyed her daughters with keen interest, aware of their every word, ever small movement. Branda preened before her wide-eyed sister, proudly displaying her wealth of knowledge. She could not help but be reminded of another such creature of similar mannerisms.

Meantime, her younger daughter held the doll she’d been sent by her father as one would a babe, careful and loving, as she raised objections to her sister’s monologue. Objections which went unheard.  Arya chuckled to herself. For a first, in spite of every small reminder strewn about her, not the least of whom were the two quarrelling moppets before her, she did not feel Roderick’s absence.

Relief tied her firmly into the over-abundant and unremitting joy she found in such simple acts as sitting in the grass, looking at her two girls, hoping the moment would last forever. Perhaps she ould let go of Roderick’s inconstancy as easily as Lyarra came around to her sister’s cajoling. Whoever said that only children learned from their parents surely must have not had children of their own.

Though she could hardly bear to look away from the girls, Arya dared one look over her shoulder, to the path. And sure enough, as if though guided by the gods’ own hands, a wondering wolf ambled slowly towards them. He stopped as she spotted him, his expression half-fear, half-hope.

Arya smiled, sitting under the shade of a solid sentinel, half-finished embroidery lying lazily in her lap, the vague irritation of before fading into obscurity.  Lyarra squealed with glee upon sighting her father and ran past her sister and her both, eager to show the man the care she had put into looking after his gift. Her own smile widened, eyes moving to the shyer Branda who chose to hold back.      

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No sad pieces on my b-day! Though I hope no less valuable even absent tragedy.


	3. “At sunset the little soul that had come with the dawning went away, leaving heartbreak behind it" - L.M. Montgomery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very short.

_Not quite dead, yet not quite alive either, the half-a-man slipped between the cracks of existence, spurts of rushed breath breaking through a litany of sobs. Who would have thought that beings of ice could weep? Away the creature slipped with a pitiful little whine, leaving behind a bloodied shroud._

This is not her child. The weight doesn’t feel right. The scent is off, too sweet, like another mother’s milk rubbed into its very flesh. The cry is too high-pitched, the rush of blood too loud. She pushes away the thing with a wail of grief. It looks like her son, but truly isn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you can guess who the character is...


End file.
